Tool Taylor's
by Flash-Indie
Summary: 20 moments of Taylor Life
1. Sports

01 - SPORTS

It was an understatement, to say that sports played a crucial part of Tim's life.

Sport's was the thing that took his mind off his father's death, it was what brought him and his brothers that much closer together. Even now, he still watched or played sports frequently, it was just another passion, and he had felt safe in assuming that all his kids would feel the same.

Brad did. Brad loved the footy, the wrestling, and the boxing. The contact sport's was what got his eldest revved. Nothing like it really.

Mark did too, but he liked the different sports. Basketball, swimming, baseball...grumble ballet (thanks to Jill). But that was alright, after all, the other sports were good.

But Randy wasn't all that passionate about sports. In fact, Randy really didn't give a damn. The middle boy was far more engrossed in environmental issues and social justice. No spark for sport's there.

And that was what really got Tim's chagrin. It wasn't only sports either, Randy didn't like building things, or blowing stuff up, or tools or cars. Randy was Jill's boy through and through, and that just added fuel to the fire.

Jill liked it, and got mad when Tim told her his feelings on it. It just wasn't fair. He wanted all three boys to be _his boys_. But that only seemed to set Jill alight, she claimed that he had Brad and Mark, the least he could do was leave her Randy.

But when Tim was clearly upset with her response, she softened, like she always did. She told him he just needed to find something he could talk to him about. After all, when they were dating, he had said that those qualities were what he loved in her.

"Yea, but that's _you_. You're not one of the boys."

She had ignored him, and somehow, he'd ended up downstairs in the basement, sitting on his middle child's bed. Eyeing the wooden pieces that Randy fumbled with.

"What's that?"

"Hm?" Randy looked up from the box in front of him, "Ah, it's a chess set."

"Chess?"

"Yep. Good game, you know how to play?"

"Sure do."

"Want me to teach you?"

Tim eyed him sceptically, hadn't he just said he knew how to play (even if he didn't). Besides, the game looked dull, and the wooden pieces were old.

"Maybe later."

"Aw, c'mon, Dad."

Remembering his wife's 'wise' words, Tim resigned himself, sitting opposite Randy's desk, as his son set up the game.

"Ok, this piece is a pawn, they're the commonest piece, and worth the least, but if they make it to the other side-"

Randy frowned as he saw his Father's eyes glaze over. Lifting his brow silently, he opted to take a different approach.

"Y'know, chess is actually considered a sport."

That got Tim's attention.

"Really?"

"Yep, supposedly it's gonna be a part of the Olympics in the years to come. It's a game of skill and strategy and thinking ahead. Just like any other sport really."

"Really?" Tim grunted happily, picking up one of the small pieces that Randy had held before.

"Yep."

"And this is porn, right?"

"A pawn, Dad."

And at that moment, Tim couldn't help but think that maybe there was hope for his son.

What was funny, was at that exact same moment, Randy was thinking the same thing about his Dad.

* * *

Next up: 02 - School.


	2. School

02 - SCHOOL

Jill thought of highschool as a popularity contest that she'd missed the memo on.

The anorexic-hair-twirling girls practically throwing themselves at the boys, then tallying the score. Too many made you a slut, too little made you a mole. Jill was a mole. No, she was less than that, she was a _frigid nerd_.

Jill prided herself on her grades, her position on the school paper, and her say in the happenings of the school, (she was a prefect after all). But according to Angela-Britney, this wasn't something to be proud of.

Angela-Britney was an obvious character, a blonde barbie that appeared to be more plastic than human. Not a zit would ever blemish her skin, nor would dark rings ever stain the space beneath her eyes. Her hair was that blonde that was so natural it had to be fake, and her blue-blue eyes were the colour of oceans and tides. She was drop-dead-barbie-doll gorgeous, and she knew it too.

Jill on the other hand, was short, chubby and pimply, with too-big glasses, and brown hair glued to her scalp. She wasn't pretty, and she knew it - so did everyone else in the school.

But that was ok, because it was highschool, and everyone grows out of highschool.

Angela-Britney grew out of her barbie looks, and into pre-mature wrinkles, fading eyes, and too-large love handles due to her bodies exhaustion of pumping out children. So now, 40-years old, with a much older husband who still wears her like a charm, and 8 children as ugly as their Father, none with her previous looks, Jill can safely say she ended up with the better end of the stick.

Because Jill grew out of her glasses and pimples, she grew out of the puppy-fat and glued-down hair, and when she was still at that icky-in-between stage, a man took notice. Tim met her when she was at her worst and fell in love with her, and that always reassures her when she doubts him. She has three gorgeous boys

who will succeed at whatever they try, and she has a career.

But best of all, Jill can now remember high school with a smile. She can remember Angela-Britney's smarmy grin, her attractive looks, and her gorgeous skin, and know that it's all gone. She can remember the times that Angela-Britney mocked her, and bullied her, and kicked her books, and know that never again, because next year is a school reunion, and Jill will go, with her handsome, funny husband and her three beautiful children, and she'll only have three words to say to Ms Angela-Britney...

Take that, bitch!

* * *

Next up: 03 - House 


	3. House

03 - HOUSE

He liked it, he decided finally.

It was a nice building, with one hell of a garage, perfect for his tools and cars.

He heard a rustling behind him, and looked back in odd delight. Seeing his wife

and two boys approaching. Reaching out lightly, he grabbed his youngest from her

arms. The tiny baby squirmed in delight, and Jill laughed, taking Brad from the

stroller.

"Well, Randy. Whadd'ya think?"

The baby whimpered in response, and Tim jigged him around a bit.

"This is our new house!"

Jill nodded behind him, and Brad giggled in delight. And with that, the foursome entered the house that would become their home in the years to come.

* * *

Next up: 04 - Church 


	4. Church

04 - CHURCH

Tim didn't like church particularly; he found it seriously down-putting.

It was almost like, "Jesus saved you from sin, so we should all thank him by pretending to be super-duper religious and saying loads of prayers and crap. Oh! And don't forget the sacrifice. Live in the needs, not the wants, peoples!"

He thought it was a load of crap. And once, he made the mistake of telling Jill this.

She was angry to begin with, but eventually resigned herself, and told her that in her

opinion, prayer wasn't about preaching, but thanking God for everything you have.

Tim didn't get it, but he went to church the next day with Jill, when she asked him to go with her.

The church was poorly-lit, and had a dreary look to it. If Jill was trying to win him over to the side of the preachy Christians, she was doing a bad job of it.

She ignored him, when he joked about it.

The service was boring, and drawn-out in Tim's opinion (not that anyone cared). But as all things do, it soon came to an end. He leapt from his seat, not noticing as Jill made a quick escape to the front of the church.

He didn't even notice until he reached the car.

"Jill? Fuck, Jill! Let's go!"

If she heard him, she didn't show it, instead she spoke to the priest in a hushed tone.

"Jill!"

"I'm done, Tim."

"Ok, let's go."

"But you're not."

"What!"

Jill looked pointedly towards the cross, indicating that she wanted Tim to have a quick prayer. Rolling his eyes, he obliged.

"What am I supposed to do?"

"Just talk. Pray."

He knelt, opting to humour her.

"Hey God, how you going?"

Jill glared behind him.

"Uh, haven't heard from me in a while, huh? Well, just wanna say, you're doing a good job, I'm happy, amen."

Clearly unimpressed, Jill wandered to his side, kneeling with slight difficulty due to the hump on her belly. She spoke quietly, and sincerely, the opposite of Tim's prayer.

"Dear Lord, it's been a while for me too, I guess. I'll need to work on that. Um, Thank yous are in order. So sincerely, I want to thank you for my husband, even if he isn't always the brightest bulb in the box. I want to thank you for my family, and for Tim's. I want to thank you for my job and my friends, but most of all, I want to thank you for the newest addition to our family." She rubbed her belly smoothly, eyes still tightly shut, "Thank you for blessing us with a child, it's more than I could ever have asked for, a little miracle. Uh, if there's one thing I'll ask of you this year, please enable us to have a safe delivery, and may our baby be happy, healthy and strong. Amen."

She crossed herself, and stood with difficulty, and all Tim could do was stare in odd disbelief, before he closed his eyes, and bowed his head.

"Dear Lord, what she said, amen."

* * *

Next up: 05 - Store 


	5. Store

05 - STORE 

Tim doesn't understand men who stumble into bars after work, drinking themselves senseless to return to wallowing wives. He doesn't get the appeal of physically dominating a woman or child, pummeling them into mindless submission.

Maybe that's why he doesn't quite fit in with the burly blokes down at the local tavern. Too brutal in thoughts and too swift to deliver punishment.

That's why, he's sure, that the pub isn't where he goes to in the hours between work and home.

He goes to the tool store.

Ah yes, the shining silver, the reflecting surface of the next high-powered engine, motors gleaming, wrenches, screwdrivers, drills, hohoho! Being in that store is almost as good as using them in his garage. _Almost_.

He loves his tools, that's a given really. Ever since he was a boy this has been the object of his desire.

Well, at least until Jill came along…it's still close though really.

But what draws him to the store every evening isn't merely it's seduction, but also the knowledge that he is taking a stand. One that pulls him apart from the typical beer belly dad. He won't miss his kids' concerts, recitals – whatever – on account of sitting behind the bar, he won't disappoint them, he won't _ever_ come home in a drunken rage to beat on his wife.

Tim goes to the store to quell the craving for that male atmosphere.

Why?

He doesn't _ever_ want to hurt his family.

* * *

Next up: 06 - restaurant 


	6. Restaurant

06 – RESTAURANT

Their first date was a disaster.

Not the standard: picked her up, ripped her dress, got drunk and spent the rest of the evening heaving over her specially-bought-for-tonight shoes disaster. No, it was more: picked her up, car broke down, pushed the car three miles up the road, spent an hour at a garage where they scam you out of $500 (a job you could've done yourself had you the tools), lost your dinner reservations, ended up eating at McDonald's disaster.

Jill was not impressed, and really, neither was Tim.

He still remembers getting home and telling his brothers that he's be glad never to see her smug little face again.

Seven months, one week, four days later, he sees her stumbling into that very restaurant – not the one that they lost the reservations at -McDonald's.

Her dress is ripped, she has vomit on her pricey-looking shoes and she, really, looks like crap.

Tim's a compassionate man by nature, and he couldn't just leave her there, sobbing in the booth.

"Bad date?"

Nodding, she had stared up at him, laughing when she recognized his face.

"Talk about irony." She'd said. Tim didn't really get it, but he'd smiled anyway and sat down opposite.

On their wedding day, Jill leans over, "McDonald's isn't a bad little restaurant really."

And he laughs.

* * *

Next up: 07 - Dance Club.


	7. Dance Club

07 – DANCE CLUB

When they're dating, Tim takes great care in everything he does. Every word from his mouth holds that essence of romance, every caress of his hand is tender and so full of love that Jill feels as if she might burst.

17 years, 3 kids and a goldfish later, he's gotten careless.

Every word out of his mouth contains either a grunt or the phrase 'more power', and true, every caress _is_ still loving, just that tenderness is saved for the hotrod.

She's hardly surprised at his reaction when she hands him two tickets to the ballet.

"We're going, Tim, so quit screaming."

He exaggerates of course – pretending to rip his eyes out with his oil covered hands.

* * *

That Thursday night, she stands outside the theatre, a classy little number hugging her aging body. The ballet started a half hour ago, and Jill can't really say that she's surprised that Tim's not here.

* * *

"I'm sorry, Jill, but I was working late."

She blatantly ignores him, stirring the pasta that much rougher.

"Jill, I – will you stop that!"

Tossing down the pan, she turns to face her husband. This was not the time or the place to have this argument. She wanted dinner on the table by 7.

"What do you want me to say, Tim? It's _fine_ that – once again – you let me down? That you _stood. Me. Up._ God! I haven't even used that phrase since highschool!"

Jill scurried back to the pan, stirring the pasta with more vigor than before. "You just don't get it, Tim."

When she turned back to unleash another string of attacks, he was gone.

Probably to talk to Wilson.

* * *

There were two tickets on her bed.

She checked again, fingering the print. Yep, two tickets to _'The Wildflower'_ – one of those new, hip, youthful dance clubs.

…This had to be a joke. But the look on Tim's face was dead serious

"We used to go dancing a lot." She mumbled.

He nodded, grinning. "Yea, I hadn't danced before I met you…it was more fun than I thought it'd be."

"I danced more than you did."

"I'm not perfect, Jill."

"I know."

He just nodded at her response, reaching out to grab her hands. "Come dancing with me tonight."

She eyed him off, a grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. Maybe he hadn't grown as careless as she'd thought.

* * *

Next up: 08 – Dreams. 


	8. Dreams

08 – DREAMS

Brad dreams of paddocks. Rolling hills, lush green grass, rows and rows of flowers. Sometimes animals - horses, cows, birds and sheep, rarely people though.

He's never actually told anyone, well, what would people think? He's all about the brawn, the muscle, the footy, revving cars, slutty girls…Brad's no Randy, no Mark either.

So when he's 21, and he finds himself in some glitzy apartment, a blonde little thing sprawled over his chest, he wonders just a little bit more than he usually allows himself too.

He wonders if he's queer. Do straight men dream of air-freshener commercials? Shouldn't he be dreaming of the playboy girls or that hot brunette with the skirt crawling up her ass at the petrol station? He can't even remember dreaming about those in high school.

At 28 years old, his dreams haven't changed. It's that same paddock, those same hills, the flowers and the grass, and he's touring now, with his footy team, and he hears the other men moan in their sleep.

When Dan comes over, talking about his latest wet-dream-conquest, Brad thinks he's had enough. He excuses himself politely, and calls the only person he could ever even think about telling.

Wilson answers with his typical 'Heidi ho', and Brad waits for no further small talk, he tells him straight.

Laughing, Wilson listens, and Brad can almost see his eyes crinkling over the phone.

"Did it ever occur to you, young Taylor, that you've always been different from those rowdy young lads you shack yourself up with."

At the silence on the other end, the older man continued, "I am reminded of a quote by American author Marilyn French, 'To nourish children and raise them against odds is in any time, any place, more valuable than to fix bolts in cars or design nuclear weapons.'"

"Uh Wilson…"

"What I'm saying, Bradley, is Jill and Tim Taylor raised you well, take pride in that."

Brad thinks about that later, when he looks at himself in the mirror. Blond hair falling over wading pool eyes, when very suddenly, something clicks.

Next time he visits home, he'll ask his mother what happened to that painting he had in his room when he was very small.

The one with the paddock.

* * *

Next up: 09 - Siblings


	9. Siblings

09 – SIBLINGS

So there were three of them. There always had been too, well, for at least as long as Mark can remember. Brad, Randy and Mark. The Jock, the Brain and the Freak. And he's fine with that…really.

So when Jill started implying the possibility of another baby, it was only natural that he'd get a little nervous. They'd all known, even oblivious Tim, that Jill had always wanted a little bundle of x chromosomes to share her pain with, so they really shouldn't be surprised.

Just Mark's turning 15 this year, and he doesn't want anyone to intrude, to change their familiar dynamics. After all, that's what a baby girl would do, he's certain. She'd steal whatever fringe benefits he received for being the youngest right from under his nose, take away what little attention his family gave him. She'd be something for his Dad to protect, his Mum to cherish, his brothers to put on a pedestal. A baby would distance him from his already distant family.

Besides, the jock, the brain, the freak and the daughter? It didn't have that ring to it really.

No. A baby just wouldn't do.

* * *

Next up: 10 - Loyalty


	10. Loyalty

10 – LOYALTY

Things had gotten a bit rocky before they'd gotten married.

It was for all the reasons that long-term couples do argue. It was a question of faithfulness, of whether or not they were in this for the _long_ run.

When Jill had asked Tim, he'd flustered, flitted around the question and changed the topic of the conversation. It was all she had needed really, to slam her chair backwards and storm out of the restaurant. She left Tim behind, red-faced and joking awkwardly with the waiters.

She thought that she loved him, but she didn't want to chain him down if she wasn't ever going to be his one-and-only.

She'd caught a taxi home, and made a show of slamming the door behind her, fleeing to the sanctuary of her room, and crying till her head hurt and her eyes swell shut.

The next few days saw her moping, sulking, hiding in the shadows. She didn't talk to her family or her friends, and she certainly didn't talk to Tim…not that he'd called. By the end of the week however, she sat pathetically by the phone, praying to whoever would listen that she'd hear the familiar grunting.

He called on the thirteenth day. He wasn't confident or cocky or even funny, he was awkward and shy and the small talk was tense. Nonetheless, he invited her to dinner - the same restaurant where the fight had began.

Jill had sat at the table, self-conscious and anxious, whilst he sat opposite, trying desperately too hard. After dessert, he'd sighed in resignation, and taken her hand in his.

"I don't know, Jill. I don't know where we'll be twenty years from now. I don't know if we'll be together, or with other people. I don't know if we'll have started a family, I don't _know_. But I know now, I know that, right now, all my loyalties are with you, I know that I love you and that I can't even begin to imagine my life without you."

Needless to say, they'd gotten married the next month.

* * *

Next up: 11 - Infatuation.


	11. Infatuation

11 – INFATUATION

Mark's first crush is on a girl named Amy Blue Eyes (well, that's what he dubbed her).

She's quite pretty really, in a way that only kindergarten girls can be. He likes her black pigtails best, but her button nose is cute too. For that matter, so are her big blue eyes and that checked dress she's wearing that falls just below her knees.

They're at the supermarket when they first meet, two five year-olds, bustling down the aisles, grabbing groceries for over-worked mums. It's over the last box of _Lucky Charms_ that their eyes met, ocean blue and chocolate brown.

She giggles, and Mark's surprised when music doesn't start playing, after all, that's what happens on Saturday morning Disney. But it's beautiful none the less, with that rosy red spreading across her plump little cheeks.

"'m Amy." She says, clutching the box of lucky charms close to her chest.

"M-Mark." He replies, and suddenly his face feels really, extremely hot.

Again she giggles, this time he laughs too, and before they know it they're clutching chubby fingers together.

Jill storms down the aisle, lightening cloud of worry and destruction hovering over her head.

"Mark! Hurry up! Daddy just called, Randy had an asthma attack, we have to get to the hospital."

She picks him up, quick and easy, his sweaty fingers ripped away from hers. Amy tears up, but waves a solemn goodbye.

It takes a trip to McDonald's on the way to the hospital to get him to stop crying.

And he never saw Amy again…

Stupid Randy.

* * *

Next up: 11 - One Night Stand


	12. One Night Stand

12 – ONE NIGHT STAND

He's 47 when he acknowledges that he's one argument away from a midlife crisis.

The boys are well and truly into the dreaded adolescent years. Brad's middle name has been overused in the yelling, as he proudly causes havoc everywhere he goes. Jill says Randy's provoking all authority figures he stumbles upon, whilst Tim states blatantly that the kid's running his mouth off. Little Mark isn't so little anymore, and between that and the voice cracking and the endless stream of black, Tim's starting to wonder where the hell his little boy has gone.

But it's not only them, it's Jill and Al and Tooltime too. No one is immune to the dark cloud hovering over the Taylor house. Not even the hotrod apparently, whose motor quite happily fizzled out not ten seconds ago.

He slams the garage door close, and storms into the kitchen. Jill stands behind the stove, swapping angry words with Brad.

"Jill."

She turns to face him, and Brad quite sneakily, makes his escape.

"What, Tim? I'm a little busy."

"I'm going to the auto shop, the hotrod-"

Unbridled rage, deep and burning flashes in Jill's brown eyes. "Don't you _dare_, Tim! You know I'm having some colleagues over for dinner tonight-"

"What!" He strained, when had this been arranged?

"I _told_ you-"

"When?"

But he doesn't wait for a reply, he's already grabbed his jacket and is heading for the front door.

* * *

His journey doesn't take him to the auto shop like he'd originally planned, no, twenty minutes after storming out on Jill he finds him at a stingy little bar in God-knows-where.

Four beers later, a fresh set of blue eyes flash in his direction. There's a bat of the eyelashes, a burst of pale skin, a cocky giggle and suddenly there's a young woman by his side.

"Hey there, stranger."

A southern accent leaks through, and Tim remembers the first time he met Jill.

"Haven't seen you round here before."

"Nah, not my sort of thing really."

There's a small hand clutching his shoulder, another one resting on his knee. "Then what are you doing here?"

"Moment of passion. Had a fight with the wife."

This doesn't deter her hands though, as one sneaks up his thigh. "Yeah? Maybe I could cheer you up." She says, pouting cherry-painted lips.

"_Happily_ married." He says, thrusting her hand off his leg, desperately ignoring the rush of blood.

"Then why'd you fight?"

Tim doesn't respond. The woman is very young really, can't be older than 25.

"I could make you forget her, and she won't ever know."

He stares some more, she's really very pretty. Kinda reminds him of Jill, only…

"No." He says, stands, and leaves the bar.

* * *

It's three in the morning when he gets home.

Jill's awake, flicking through a book on the sofa.

"Hi."

She doesn't look at him, doesn't respond.

"Did I miss anything?"

"Only dinner." She states, matter of fact.

"Sorry."

He moves to sit next to her, and she puts the book down, laying her head on his shoulder.

"Jill…" She grunts in response, "Is this as good as it's gonna get?"

Lifting her head, she stares at him wearily. She looks tired and old, and it's really quite strange that she's still so beautiful.

"It'll get better, Tim. It always does."

And really, what else is there to say?

* * *

Next up: 13 - Food 


	13. Food

13 – FOOD

What is most bizarre about pregnancy, Tim thinks, is the unexplainable cravings for abnormal foods.

His mother had always talked about pickles with chocolate sauce, or potato chips dipped in ice-cream. But in all honesty, and Tim did feel quite bad for saying this, he hadn't really believed her. Well, not until Jill had fallen pregnant with Brad.

For nine months, she'd only drink sports drinks, yearning for that sugar and fake-healthy taste. She'd eat carrots covered in Tabasco sauce and only the skins of apples. For dinner, Jill wouldn't touch the meatloaf or pasta that lay in front of her, instead opting for tubs of mayonnaise. Tim couldn't count the number of times he'd had to do late night runs to the store for maple syrup and instant-lasagne.

He couldn't be happier when Brad was born, alas a state of normality would be re-introduced to the house.

Randy's pregnancy was different. Jill ate naturally and normally, instead feeding an insatiable hunger for knowledge. She'd read and read and read and read, about anything and everything. She lived at the library, sitting quite comfortably on the beanbags with her gigantic beach ball belly. Tim didn't talk to her about it. He ignored the stack of books by the side of their bed, and didn't notice the way she'd miss events and dates due to a cup of coffee and a good book.

After their second son was born, the books went quite happily back to the library, spines worn and pages well-read.

Mark was different again. Jill's hunger erupted in the form of darkness. Of dark chocolate and heavy metal music. She'd watch the martial arts on TV, the football with Tim, anything brutal and tough. But really, he couldn't say it was just that, she'd still have her ballet and opera binges, and a few times, he swore he saw her sneak mayonnaise and a book into the bathroom.

He figured he wouldn't say anything.

* * *

Next up: 14 - Heart break


	14. Heartbreak

14 – HEARTBREAK

They'd been dating for little more than a year. 12 months, 2 weeks and 3 days. Yep, little more than a year, but he'd been away for their anniversary, so they'd planned their night tonight.

Maybe it would have gone well, with the flowers and the smiles and the heart fluttering pleasantly in her chest, only it hadn't. It hadn't gone well at all.

And to be honest, she couldn't even remember what the fight had been about now, only she'd left the restaurant in a flurry of blue dress and eighties-style hair.

Her mascara ran races down her flushing cheeks, and her lipstick was chewed and fading. She pulled the blue dress further up her stocking-clad legs and ran with her stilettos through puddles and mud and clumps of dirty grass, but really, none of this mattered.

Because something was wrong inside, something in her had torn and ripped and clenched and shattered, and every ounce of her _ached_. She'd never felt like this before, not even when Tony Rydelle stood her up at prom. That was _nothing_ compared to the violent throbbing of her eyes in her skull, or the heart in her chest that somehow didn't belong in her anymore.

Everything was aching, and from the hair on her head to the hair on her toes, she just wanted to _die_, because nothing could feel right after this, _nothing._ But she was almost home now, and it was nearing the horizon, and it had never looked so beautiful, and she wanted, she _needed_ her Mother's welcoming arms. The heart that had shattered had left glass remnants on the floor of her chest, and that wasn't right, but somehow it was, and she had never, ever felt a heartbreak quite like this.

* * *

Next up: 15 - Vacation 


	15. Vacation

15 – Vacation

It hadn't taken Jill long to realise that every holiday she took with her predominantly male family was destined to be a disaster. Granted, these catastrophes were often increasingly amusing (it seemed that Tim always managed to find something in their hotel that needed –grunt-more power), however, every so often, something scary would happen that really ate at the base of her heart until resolved.

And from the violent throb of her lungs in her chest, and her heart in her throat…this was one of them.

They'd gone on a vacation to California. Jill wasn't exactly sure as to why this particular destination, however all three boys had desperately begged, and Tim had started begging too, just to get them to shut up.

The boys reasoning had been apparent when they'd arrived, a concert…some hard-rock, screechy, white-faced guy's, and Jill could safely say that there was no way in hell her teenage boys were gonna go.

Only they had. They'd escaped in the middle of the night, and fled the safety of their hotel suite and gone to an abandoned warehouse of a building, that looked the home to several serial killers and rapists and god only knows what else.

It had been only a bit past three in the morning when the phone had buzzed blaringly in her ear.

Brad had gotten drunk apparently (that much wasn't a great surprise, he was an 18 year-old-boy after all), but he'd gotten into a fistfight, given it his all too, Mark had told her later. Only he'd lost, and some 40-year-old guy, with more tattoos than flesh had walked off quite proud of himself.

So here she sat, wringing her fingers anxiously in her lap, Tim's arm around her shoulders as he babbled out some botched up philosophy.

Randy and Mark were asleep in the chairs opposite, looking dazed and far too young, and really, all Jill wanted to see right now was Brad.

The doctor came out, her white coat flying with each confident step.

"Taylor."

She held out her hand "Dr. Rose Montgomery, I'm caring for your son, Brad."

Jill nodded anxiously, taking the woman's hand in her own. "He'll be fine. Fractured wrist and bruised ribs…so sore, but fine."

Jill could've collapsed at this woman's feet, sobbing and desperately happy, and by god, those boys would be grounded when she somehow managed to bring herself back down to Earth.

"Thank you."

"No problem, I'd like to keep him over night though, just for observations."

She nodded, they'd probably laugh about this later, another funny family vacation, but not right now…not yet.

* * *

Next up: 16 - haunting


	16. Haunting

16 – Haunting

When Randy was 6, he swore up and down that their long gone pets had taken to haunting his bedroom.

Brad had provoked it, encouraged it, having just reached the age of 8, where torturing little brothers was of intense appeal. Tim had gone along with it, laughed and grunted, and trundled off to the garage to work on some lately released mechanical device, that doubtlessly needed the input of one Tim Taylor.

Jill however, failed to see the humour in such an affair.

Her baby boy, (when Tim had asked what Mark was then, she told him to shut up), her baby face Randy was seeing the undead. She was not a superstitious woman by any stretch, but explaining the implausibility of zombie goldfish and budgies was harder then it sounded. Boogeymen were easier.

But finally, after sleeping with him on the sofa for three weeks, he started to see the light.

"Maybe they gone now, Mama."

And she'd agreed furiously, of course. Quite happy that this chapter of her life was apparently over.

Randy doesn't tell anyone, but even now, ten years later, he still believes that Bubbles the ghost-hamster lives under his bed.

* * *

Next up: 17 - Rituals


	17. Rituals

17 – RITUALS

Before Brad was born, Tim and Jill would go out every Friday night. It sort of became a habit.

They'd try to go somewhere new, somewhere fresh and exciting, to foreign restaurants, to concerts, to galleries. They were young and beautiful, and life was good and so full of wonder and…and then Brad was born.

It wasn't that the habit was dropped; it was more that it just changed. They still tried to go out every Friday; it just wasn't to the same places, less class, more fast food. After Randy was born, this new tradition was merely cemented.

Maybe Jill hated it, sitting at the grimy table watching Tim grunt and wrestle a piece of pizza from the box, Brad and Randy's gurgling squeals a sheer encouragement. Mark moaned in his highchair, upset that he was missing out on the excitement.

Jill sighed, pulling Mark into her lap, as he tried in vain to leap at his father. When they'd gotten married, she'd told her own mother that for her and Tim, those romantic nights out would never end. They'd have kids, hire babysitters, have one night a week, just for them. Her mother had laughed in her face. Men only wooed till they got you into bed, she'd claimed loudly, glaring at her own husband, and Jill was starting to see why her mother never took to those family outings.

She'd spoken to an older friend, Tess, about it a few days ago, a woman with two boys of her own. Jill had asked when this sort of thing ended, Tess said that she was yet to see any refuge, and her sons were making their way to college.

So, Jill figured, she'd probably get used to this. To belching boys, and sweaty husbands, to pizza and Mc Donalds, to graffitied tables and grimy public toilets.

Mark reached up, clammy little fingers clasping at her dangly earrings.

Yep, she'd probably have to get used to this.

* * *

Next up: 18 - Non-stop Fighting


	18. Nonstop Fighting

18 – Non-stop Fighting

Every adolescent went through periods of teenage angst and rage and a bag full of hormones. It was commonplace stuff, nothing to worry or fret about. It was just, these were her boys, and annoying little phases were becoming a little _too_ normal.

These phases were starting to occur daily, each boy bubbling with…with _something_. Something irritable and angry and just plain _adolescent_.

They weren't so cute anymore, maybe that was the problem, less dimples and giggles, more zits and sarcasm.

They'd prod and provoke and nag, and there was only so much more she could take of whiny Mark, sniping Randy and a hunched Brad who wanted to pound his fists into something, anything. So much reckless abandon, so much outright frustration.

If Jill were to be plain and simple about it, the matter was fundamentally that of fights and arguments and cruel words that sprung from innocent lips at any chance they got.

"Hey, Mark! Did you touch my computer?"

Mark flashed huge brown eyes to the door, then back to Randy, as the 16 year old stormed into the room. Brad inched to the edge of the sofa, fists itching for a fight.

"Why would I go anywhere near your computer?" Mark asked, fingers clenching at his knees.

Randy turned purple, seeing the floppy disk under Mark's skinny thigh, and really the situation deteriorated from there.

&

Jill rolled her eyes, her boys; her men lying sprawled on the floor, a tangle of growing limbs. Each slept in hopeless oblivion, cuddling and drooling all over each other.

With any luck, this phase would be over soon.

She sighed, somehow she doubted it.

&

Next up: 19 - Teasing


	19. Teasing

19 – Teasing

If there was one thing that Tim and Randy had in common, it was their sense of humour.

Everyone had acknowledged it, everyone had seen Tim's often unforgiving teasing on television, had seen him provoke and harass his co-workers with little mercy, and everyone had seen this mirrored in Randy's actions.

They mocked and laughed their way through awkward situations, teased to show affection, teased to bully. Sometimes it irritated Jill, irritated Brad and Mark, but really, it was just them.

It was just like them to place humour above all else, and really, she wouldn't have it any other way.

&&

Next up: 20 - Wait for you


	20. Wait for you

020 – Wait for You

Tim had gotten a job, a good job selling tools inter-state.

And Jill was happy for him, really she was, because Tim had had a chain of crappy jobs in an effort to support their young family, and this was a good job, she assured herself, good money.

So what if she was here alone a lot, stuck at home with baby Brad and an ever-growing belly, so what if maybe she didn't see him as much as she used too. To keep him from this job would be selfish, greedy.

They had a roof over their heads, they had food on the table, it wasn't too important that Tim wasn't here all the time to enjoy it.

Maybe what bothers her is the way men speak to her now, many think she's a single mum, an easy lay.

She denies all offers quite furiously, married she says, _happily_ married.

She'll wait for Tim to come home, thank you very much.

* * *

End.


End file.
